"It is better, indeed, to relate what followed; but I wish you to know all—I would have nothing concealed. I felt that my case would not stand a trial. I was visited again by my evil companion, the tempter who had led me to disgrace. Urged by him, or rather by my own guilty fears, I broke faith with my friend, escaped into France, and led there a life the remembrance of which would bow me to the dust had I not learned to hope that even the chief of sinners might find mercy." "I married, lost my wife in the first year of our union, then returned to my own country under a false name; and in company with men as guilty as myself, supported myself by the gains of dishonesty." "Why should I tell all this," exclaimed the stranger, "but that you may shun the paths in which I fell—that you may learn from one who speaks from terrible experience, that there is no wretchedness on earth like that of guilt—and flee betimes from the approach of the tempter! There may be the loud laugh, the burst of wild mirth, the feast, the revel, the intoxicating draught; but oh! The bitterness, the sickening joylessness within, where the soul dare not turn its gaze on itself, when it seeks excitement to stifle thought, when solitude is terrible, reflection intolerable." Walter thought of the miser's fifty-pound bank-note, and lifted his heart in gratitude to Him who had saved him in the hour of temptation. "At last," resumed the stranger, "what I dreaded happened; the strong hand of the law arrested me in my wretched career of guilt. I was sent to Newgate, tried, condemned. I deserved my sentence—I knew that I deserved it; but my soul rebelled against its just punishment. I was becoming hardened and reckless in misery, hardened in despair." "And thus might I have sunk lower and lower, till I had perished at last in my sin; but the day before I was sent from my country, leaving, as I believed, not one friend behind, I received a letter from the same benevolent man who had twice before been ready to aid me. At a time when I was brought down, crushed to the dust, when all the rest of the world shunned and despised me, that man came forwards, unwearied in well-doing, and offered to do me an important service, which I dared not have asked of a brother." "The letter enclosed a little book, 'Baxter's Call to the Unconverted,' with an earnest request from the writer that I would read it once carefully over. At another time, I would have flung it aside with contempt, if not with anger; but my heart was softened by unmerited kindness—I could not refuse the only request made by one to whom I was indebted for so much. Doubtless that book was sent with prayer, and carried a blessing with it."